


tienes mi voz, tienes mis versos (no somos perfectos)

by Lire_Casander



Series: mi mejor casualidad [1]
Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst, Fights, Fluff, Love Languages, M/M, Making Up, Tarlos Corazonados Weekend 2021, Tarlos Valentine 2021, blanket theft, mentions of a fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29375154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lire_Casander/pseuds/Lire_Casander
Summary: he knows they need to talk, he knows they need to make this right
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Series: mi mejor casualidad [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157834
Comments: 16
Kudos: 146
Collections: Tarlos Valentine 2021





	tienes mi voz, tienes mis versos (no somos perfectos)

**Author's Note:**

> beta’ed by [meloingly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meloingly)
> 
> title from _moriré en el intento_ by antonio orozco. the title roughly translates into _you have my voice, you have my verses (we are not perfect)_
> 
> written for the [Tarlos Corazonados Weekend 2021](https://tarlos-valentine.tumblr.com/post/641679263079202816/tarlos-corazonados-weekend-2021-we-are-pleased-to), **_day #1: “babe, please, sharing is caring” + blanket hogging + favorite outfit_**
> 
> love languages used: **physical touch + receiving gifts**

The envelope is glaring at Carlos from its spot on the kitchen counter where he’s dropped it as though it burns, after he’s signed the paper the postman has forced upon him in order to receive this registered letter.

He knows he should call TK — he knows he should interrupt his scheduled shift and barge into the station brandishing the letter like a sword. Or a shield. It should have been them against the world, but they’re currently in a situation that prevents Carlos from even picking up his phone and calling TK, because he knows TK won’t pick up.

He’s fucked up. _Again_.

It had all started with a small, petty fight. Carlos doesn’t want to remember how they went from eating a rushed breakfast before their shifts to the yelling that ensued — he just knows it's been half a week, and they haven't been on speaking terms ever since. And Carlos is aware that most of it is on him — heʼs to blame for the silence that stretched after the yelling, for the slamming door in his wake, for not picking up the phone and for driving TK away from him. 

It's been a pattern these past months ever since they started this process; the rollercoaster of emotions usually catches them together, on the same wavelength, but not this time. This time Carlos had to go and be stupid about something as silly as TK hogging the blanket at night. So yeah, maybe he remembers why it all started. So sue him. He _still_ doesn’t want to reminisce about it. 

He just wants TK to talk to him again.

But that seems to be an impossible feat right now, because TK is currently in the middle of a forty-eight-hour shift and Carlos has just begun the first of his three days off work. 

He wanders through their apartment aimlessly, moving from the couch to the fridge without opening it, only to climb up the stairs and stop dead in his tracks right before entering their bedroom. Carlos sighs when he finds himself one step away from the bed for the fourth time in a single morning; it's evident that heʼs mourning something he isn’t even sure is dead. He needs to talk to TK. 

He needs to set things right. 

He makes a decision in a split second, grabbing his wallet and his keys, and pocketing them as he walks out of the building. The ride to the station is short, but Carlos can't help dreading arriving at his destination. There’s not much he remembers about the reasons why they were fighting, but there’s just one thing he canʼt shake off — TK has gone on shift without saying _I love you_ , without Carlos making sure TK knows he has a home to come back to, a beacon in the night in case things go south at work. 

Carlos knows that everything can change in a second, and he doesn’t want to waste another moment. This is why they never go to bed angry at each other; maybe they should create a new habit of never parting ways without having cleared the air between them, if either one or both of them are starting a shift. They're both first responders — there’s a high chance one day they wonʼt make it back home. 

He parks the Camaro outside the station but he doesn’t get out of the car. He needs time to think, time to organize his thoughts and carefully choose his words. Then he goes back to the fight from earlier in the week, he begins to remember clearly that he was being grumpy about TK hogging the blankets on the bed during the night. Heʼd thought he was being polite but his words had come out all wrong and TK had been upset and somehow they had started shouting things neither of them truly believed. 

Or at least Carlos hopes TK doesn’t. It would break his heart if he did. 

“Carlos?” he hears, followed by tapping on the window. When he looks up, he can see Paulʼs concerned eyes looking down at him. Carlos rolls down the window. “You okay, man?” 

He wants to tell Paul that heʼs peachy, but when Carlos takes a second, longer look at Paul, he can tell that Paul might already know, if his sympathetic smile is anything to go by. Carlos doesn’t know what he was thinking, coming here and trying to play it cool after talking himself into walking inside — of all the people the universe could send to him in his moment, it had to be Paul Strickland, observant extraordinaire. 

“I don’t know,” Carlos replies. 

“Well, your man isn’t any better,” Paul points out. “Same nervous energy, same bags under his eyes. You know, if I didn’t know you two, I would think youʼd have kept each other up all night.” 

“And how do you know that's not the case?” Carlos doesn’t know where this sassiness is coming from, but he's also conscious that he isn’t fooling Paul. 

“For once, TK and I have been together for twenty-four hours now in this shift, Reyes. Not a chance I’d have missed him sneaking out to get some,” Paul replies, arching one eyebrow as though daring Carlos to deny it. “And then, I can assure you, after all this time, I think I can distinguish TKʼs nervous energy from his _Iʼve gotten laid_ energy,” he finishes crudely, air quotes in place. When Carlos doesn’t say anything, Paul sighs. “Are you getting in to talk to him? Judd's so close to throwing him out a window next call.” 

“I should, shouldn’t I?” Without waiting for Paulʼs answer, Carlos maneuvers to open the door and steps outside, under the inquisitive gaze of his friend. 

“Heʼs in the kitchen, probably terrorizing Mateo,” Paul guides him. “Tell the probie that I need him out here. I guess Marj and Judd would know better than to stay where they could get in the crossfire.” 

“You know it's been literal years since Mateo stopped being the probie, right?” Paul simply stares at him, his eyebrow shooting up again in a dare, and Carlos chooses not to argue. “Iʼll tell him.” 

“You must. The kid wouldn’t realize heʼs in a landmine even if a bomb exploded under his feet.” 

Carlos chokes out a startled laugh. Paul pats his shoulder before leaning into the Camaro and crossing his arms. Carlos hesitates with his first step forward, but as he approaches the open space he feels more and more secure in his skin. He needs to talk to TK, he needs to apologize. And if Paul is right — and he’s usually right — TK isn’t in better shape than he is.

When he heads for the kitchen, he sees Marjan and Judd making their way out of the station hastily. Judd shakes his head in greeting, while Marjan squeezes his arm in passing. It’s a small gesture, but Carlos appreciates it anyway — it makes him feel like part of the family, like he matters to them.

Like he can fix this.

Carlos stops dead in his tracks a few steps before reaching his destination. TK is in the kitchen with Mateo, just as Paul said, leaning into a counter and actually terrorizing Mateo with a rant about — Carlos doesn’t need to strain his ears to actually _hear_ it — bubble tea and the properties it holds in comparison to other kinds of tea.

“If you let him go on,” he interrupts, leaning into the closest counter. Mateo jumps a little upon hearing his voice, but TK simply stares ahead. Carlos doesn’t rule out the fact that TK might have _sensed_ him coming in. “If you let him go on, you’ll be trapped here forever. And Paul needs you outside.”

“I—I should go. Now,” Mateo mumbles, rushing out of the kitchen. Owen is nowhere to be seen, as are Tommy, Nancy and Freddie, but even though they’re alone in the kitchen TK is stubbornly refusing to acknowledge him.

“TK,” he begins, hands moving on their own accord to touch TK’s arm on the counter. He stops his movement when he sees TK visibly flinching. He doesn’t want to be the reason why TK is afraid of touch anymore. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have attacked you like that.”

TK sighs. “You were right,” he mutters. “I do hog the blankets at night. I get cold, but that shouldn’t be an excuse.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos repeats. This time, when he moves his fingers, he reaches TK’s skin and squeezes his arm without TK moving away. “It was a horrible thing to shout at you.”

“You were just speaking your truth,” TK mumbles. Carlos takes step after step until he’s standing behind TK, his larger frame covering TK’s body, his hands resting next to TK’s on top of the counter. “It’s me who’s sorry.”

“You can’t really believe that me screaming at you because you hog the blankets is my truth, right?” Carlos speaks directly into TK’s ear. “I’ve known you for seven years now, Tyler Kennedy, I’m used to you stealing the blankets. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I was stressed, I’m _still_ stressed, but that’s no excuse.”

“What would you have said, instead?” TK twists in Carlos’ arms until they’re facing each other; Carlos can feel TK’s breath on his skin. “ _Babe, please, sharing is caring_?”

“Most probably,” Carlos chuckles. He’s beginning to get drunk on TK’s scent, now that he can see his green eyes once again searching his soul. He allows his gaze to roam over TK, taking in every single detail of his appearance, until he realizes something. “Why aren’t you on your AFD uniform?” he asks. 

TK’s wearing his grey hoodie, the one from all those nights back when they stared at the green-lit skies on top of his Camaro — the night it all started. His eyes widen as he faintly remembers the clothes he’s hastily put on before running out of their apartment.

He’s wearing the maroon polo shirt he’d been wearing back then, because he knows how much TK loves the way the color brightens up his eyes.

“I’m benched,” TK confesses. “Dad doesn’t want me out there while I’m unable to focus. And he’s right, I’ve been out of my mind ever since this shift started.”

Carlos nods. He knows exactly what TK means — he’s not been himself either.

“I left you without telling you how much I love you. I broke our promise,” TK mumbles. Carlos’ hands shoot up, drawing caressing patterns on TK’s arms.

“Hey, hey, don’t say that. I drove you away, remember? I yelled at you because you have cold feet at night and steal the blanket. Something that can be easily fixed if I bought another blanket for myself.”

“Or if I wore socks in bed,” TK suggests, resting his forehead against Carlos’ chest. And God, Carlos has missed this, this touch, this feeling of invincibility just because TK is staring right into his soul.

“Wearing socks in bed is sacrilege,” Carlos jokes. “Do you forgive me?”

TK giggles, the sound reverberating through Carlos’ body. “Is this your way of apologizing? I would have thought you’d be more _thorough_ , Officer.”

“Not when we’re in public, Firefighter,” he jabs back. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve already said that,” TK points out.

“You haven’t said if you forgive me.”

“Of course I forgive you, you twit,” Tk says, swatting at him. “I’ve forgiven you the moment you stepped into the station. Probably way before that. But,” he adds, “I’ll only forgive you if you forgive me.”

“What for?” Carlos pushes TK away briefly, a frown marring his features. He doesn’t understand.

“Well, I’ve been stressed about this whole process. I don’t want to disappoint anyone, and I’ve been taking it out on you.”

“We’ve both been stressed. The interviews, the background checks, all that takes its toll,” Carlos tries to reason. They’ve been through this before, several times, from the moment they decided to embark in this adventure. 

“But what if we don’t make it because of _me_?” TK says in despair. “What if they have a look at my file and decide that they won’t give us a chance because they won’t give a child to an addict who also has been arrested before?”

“There were _no_ charges pressed against you, remember?” Carlos sighs. “And they’d be idiots not to give us that chance. And even if they are, it won’t be your fault. It’d be _theirs_. And if that ever happens, we’ll go somewhere else. We’ll start anew. We can do it.”

“We should have received a letter by now,” TK says with a creaking voice. “It surely means bad news, huh?”

“Actually,” Carlos starts, holding his breath when TK looks up at him. “A letter came in the post today. Had to sign the reception and all that jazz.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” TK says frantically. “Where is it? What does it say?”

“Hey, hey, take a breath, tiger,” Carlos tries to calm him, his fingers already cupping TK’s face lovingly, stroking the skin until he feels TK’s breathing slowing down. “I haven’t brought it with me. I want to open it with you, but I want to do it at home, together. We can wait until you’re back from your long shift.”

TK leans into Carlos’ touch. “Okay, that will be my reason to power through this hell. And now you should go,” he continues, looking over Carlos’ shoulder. “The whole crew is snooping.”

Carlos laughs. “Okay, I’ll leave. I have a couple of days off ahead of me and I should really, really catch up on some sleep.”

“Sleep for me, will you?” TK says playfully, lifting his hands to caress Caros’ cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Carlos whispers, pecking TK’s lips before the catcalls come.

He saunters out of the station with a new spring on his step. He’s just content that things have finally worked out between them — he just wishes he hadn’t been so stubborn not to come over the station sooner. He should have done it, but there’s no point in dwelling on the past now that they’re good again. 

They will get through anything. Together. 

He hops into his Camaro and starts it, mentally going through the groceries he will need to buy. He decides to stop at the store on his way back home, since he needs to restock their pantry. 

When he pulls up next to their building, it’s almost three hours later. He jumps out, grabs the bags and balances them as he fishes his keys in his pocket. He frowns when he feels the ease with which he opens the door, as though the door had been unlocked. He enters the house with caution, not knowing what to expect, when he spots TK in the middle of the living room with his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. 

“TK?” Carlos asks, surprised. Soon his astonishment morphs into worry. “Are you hurt? That's why you're home so early?” 

“No, nothing like that,” TK rushes to explain. “I, uhm. I was dismissed when Dad knew the letter had arrived. He literally told me he didn’t need me to be distracted on site. And to call him the moment we knew, bad news or good news. The rest of the fam wants in, as well.” 

Carlos chuckles. “Let me leave this in the kitchen and I will be back here with you.” He does as he says, the bags falling askew on the counters, before he runs out of the room and into the living room. 

Where there’s no sign of TK. 

“Love?” he calls out. “Where are you?” 

“The bedroom,” comes the muffled reply from upstairs. 

“But the letter is—” Carlos trails off when he notices that the letter isn’t where he put it in the morning. The envelope is nowhere to be seen. 

Carlos climbs the stairs, two steps at a time, and heʼs panting when he reaches their bedroom. He sticks his head through the open threshold, and the sight steals the rest of his breath. 

TK is standing in the middle of the room, next to the bed, where Carlos can see what looks like a navy blue blanket. It seems fluffy and soft, and Carlos finds himself wishing he could touch it. But there’s more. 

There’s a note on top of it, and he can spy the corner of the envelope with the letter he's been dreading to open on his own. 

“How? When?” he manages to croak out. He’s walked into the room without even paying attention to his movement. 

“I might have bought it the moment I stepped out after our fight,” TK confesses. “Several online stores deliver the same day to fire stations, so I was just waiting to apologize to you with it.” 

Carlos smiles softly. He leans in, dropping a kiss on TKʼs already pursed lips. “Thank you.” 

“There are other ways to say _I love you_ , not just your touchy-feely method,” TK jokes. 

“I don’t remember you complaining about my touchy-feely ways a couple of days ago.” 

“Hush now,” TK mumbles, kissing Carlos back. 

Carlos maneuvers them across the room until heʼs within armʼs reach of the blanket. There are words written in TKʼs messy scrawl on the note. Carlos feels his heart swelling with pride and so much love that it's almost unbearable. 

“Sharing is caring,” he reads out loud on the note that's left on top of the fluffy blanket, before picking up the envelope that's beneath with shaky fingers. 

“Are you ready to know?” TK says at his back, arms sneaking around his waist and pulling him in closer. 

Carlos can only nod, overwhelmed by the love he is feeling right in this moment. He manages to tear the envelope open and extracts a piece of paper from the inside. “Dear Mr. and Mr. Strand-Reyes,” he begins reading before he breaks down in tears and falls on his knees on the floor, accompanied in the motion by TK, who's holding him tighter. 

“Babe,” TK whispers into his hair, dropping a kiss on his hair, a suspicious wetness coloring his words. “We made it. Weʼre in.” 

Carlos nods, turning in TKʼs arms until heʼs openly crying into his hoodie, the letter abandoned on the floor, although the words are engraved in his mind forever. 

_We are happy to inform you that you have been approved as prospective adopting parents by the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services._


End file.
